


The Mere Idea of You

by wordlesscaptain



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 10:15:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16952118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordlesscaptain/pseuds/wordlesscaptain
Summary: Steve finds himself drawn to a particular coffee shop in the heart of Midtown and can’t seem to get a certain barista off his mind. | To be read with The Very Thought of You.





	The Mere Idea of You

The cold was gruesome and rigid. Its bite was bitter and unforgiving, always leaving behind a lingering sense of agony and remorse. It brought back disheartening memories that Steve did not need to relive. He avoided it as much as he could. On icy days like this, he always cut his morning runs short. The burn in his lungs from the frigid air becoming too much to stand.

However, despite the arctic weather, he somehow managed to venture back out in it time and time again. It was only a short, brisk walk until he found his place of solace—a small and inviting coffee shop in the heart of Midtown. Although it wasn’t his ideal location—Midtown being a hot spot for tourists and alien invasions—something, _someone_ , kept bringing him back.   

Whenever anyone on the team asked why he always had to go to _that_ coffee shop when he could just stay at the tower and make his own coffee, he just shrugged and said it helped clear his mind. That was all entirely true. His first venture out to that quaint little shop was to help put his mind at ease after a particularly rough mission.

He had visited various coffee shops, not wandering too far from the tower just in case danger struck. Most places were too busy and noisy for his liking, filled with people scurrying to get their caffeine fix at all hours of the day. But one shop in particular stood out to him.  

Fairy lights flickering in the windows drew him in. The shop was small, but warm. The scent of freshly brewed coffee instantly putting him at ease. Delicate candles sat atop ivory tables, somehow making the space feel larger than it was. The thing that stood out to him most, however, was the familiar jazz music playing throughout the shop. Once he stepped inside, he immediately transcended back to his time. A time where things were simpler and less chaotic. A time where all he worried about was his mom and his best friend. A time where he didn’t have to protect the world he lived in. That was exactly what he needed.

The cherry on top that sealed the deal was the friendly barista who always made Steve’s coffee—black with an occasional splash of milk—with a smile on her face. The two of you shared pleasant conversation every morning he stopped by. He appreciated that you were kind to him, unlike a handful of baristas he had encountered around the city. He also liked that you kept his identity on the downlow, unlike the occasional barista that would yell _‘Oh my God, you’re Captain America’_ , alerting the _entire_ establishment of his presence.  

Steve couldn’t put a finger as to why he kept visiting that little coffee shop just to see you. There was just something about you. His thoughts often ran back to you all throughout the day. Maybe he kept going back to see you to finally find an answer as to why he had become so enamored with you.

He walked into the coffee shop on another particularly cold morning, jazz music melting the frigid cold off of him. His eyes instantly glued to your form, his smile slowly growing at the sight of you. You were behind the counter, obviously deep in thought.  

Steve inched up to the counter, rolling on the balls of his feet before breaking the silence. “Mornin’, Y/N.”

Your eyes grew wide in recognition, a big grin instantly adorning your face. “Steve,” you breathed. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” he echoed with a smile. “How are you?”

“I’m good, great,” you smiled. 

He smiled again. “Rough morning?” he asked with earnestness. You seemed a little out of it today.

“Oh, just the same old, same old,” you shrugged. 

“I’m sorry,” he hummed. He genuinely felt bad for you. He heard stories about some of the interactions you had with customers. Hell, he had even _seen_ some of the interactions. It was shocking how rude people could be.

“It’s okay. Not all of the customers are terrible. So,” you paused, “the usual?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded. He loved how he had been here so much that he had a usual and that _you_ knew what it was.

“Coming right up,” you swiveled back towards the kitchen, filling up a glass with hot coffee. You returned and handed him the warm cup.  

“Thank you,” he beamed. He stuck his hand in his pocket and fished out his wallet, hoping he’d be fast enough before you turned down his payment.

“Nuh-uh, this one’s on the house.” 

Nope. Not fast enough.

“But it’s always on the house. Let me pay you, just this once,” he pleaded.  

“Consider it a thank you for protecting this crazy world. Lord knows you don’t get thanked enough.”

“Okay,” he let out a breath and smiled. It was a kind gesture that he just couldn’t say no to. “Thank you.” 

“No, thank _you_ ,” you grinned.

He flashed you another smile before sitting in his usual seat next to the window. He pulled out his sketchbook and sprawled it out in front of him, pencil on one side of the book, coffee on the other. He peered out the window, hoping to find something to sketch and trying to not get distracted by you. However, he could see figments of your reflection dancing in the window, so that was a lost cause. He decided to continue sketching the same subject he had been focused on ever since he stepped foot in this coffee shop—you.  

Steve desperately hoped you, or anyone, never found his sketchbook. He thought it might be a little creepy and unsettling if you ever found out all he ever sketched was you. No, it was _definitely_ creepy. But he couldn’t help himself. He loved sketching you. How the warm lights illuminated your hair, how you smiled at each customer—despite how rude they were, how much care and focus you put into each drink you crafted. He got lost in putting the details of you onto paper.

The scratching of graphite across the page came to a sudden stop when Steve’s phone buzzed. He sighed and looked down at the glowing screen. Much to his dismay, he had to leave his safe haven and go back to avenging.  

He threw his sketchbook and pencil into his bag and slung it over his shoulder. Picking up his empty coffee cup, he walked back to the counter to bid you farewell.

“Heading out?” you asked. 

“Afraid so,” he gave you a sad smile. “Duty calls.”

You nodded in acknowledgement. “Be safe out there,” you gave him a small smile. “Can’t have my favorite customer getting injured.”

His heart fluttered at your words. Your _favorite_ customer. But you said it with a hint of unease. He could tell you were worried about him. You always seemed to be worried about him whenever he left to save the world. He hated that he caused you to worry. He wished he could assure you that he always tried his damn hardest to keep himself out of harm’s way so he could come back and relish in the comfort of your company.

“Always,” he gave you a sympathetic smile. Giving you a small wave, he walked out the door.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he made the miserable walk back to the tower in the cold. His thoughts wandering back to you. _‘Can’t have my favorite customer getting injured.’_ repeated over and over in his mind, a smile forming on his lips. He hope he won’t have to wait too long before he could see you again.

—

Moscow was cold and unforgiving. A mission that was supposed to last a couple of days had extended into a couple of weeks. Steve longed for nothing more to leave the frigid country and bask in the warmth and comfort of that little coffee shop in Midtown.

He had been finding it incredibly hard to stay focused on the mission at hand. His mind kept wandering to you. How were you doing? How many rude customers did you have to deal with today? Did you think about him as much as he thought about you?

Thoughts like this he would’ve let freely flow if he wasn’t currently in hand to hand combat. He had been so distracted this entire mission, today even more so for some reason. Since his focus was obviously _elsewhere_ , the enemies were able to land a few good blows. Steve hoped nobody would notice, but it was such a rare occurrence for him that he was sure he’d be pestered with questions later.

“You alright, man?” Sam asked after they made it back to the safe house.

“Yeah, I’m just a little out of it today,” Steve shrugged in one of the uncomfortable arm chairs, a tablet with information on the mission in his hand.

“I’ll say,” Sam scoffed. “They’ve actually been kicking your ass out there. Definitely something I thought I’d see when pigs fly, but Bucky isn’t airborne yet so,” he shrugged, a smirk growing on his lips.

“I heard that!” Bucky yelled from the other room.

Steve sighed shook his head, continuing to scroll through the seemingly endless information.

“But, for real,” Sam continued, “You doing okay?”

He looked to Sam and paused for a minute before responding. “Yeah, just don’t like the cold.”

Sam nodded in acknowledgement and didn’t press further, seeming to buy Steve’s answer.

Steve continued to scroll through the tablet, the words evaporating in thin air before he could make sense of them. Images kept flashing in his mind, images of you. The slope of your nose, the cure of your lips, the wide grin you flashed him every time you saw him. What it would be like to be wrapped in a sea of blankets on a cold night like this, touching and caressing your soft and supple skin. Man, he had it _bad_. How had you come to occupy so much space in his mind? He didn’t know you all that well, and yet you had him wrapped around your finger.

Did he have the same effect on you as you did on him? Did the mere idea of him distract you from your daily life? Perhaps he would never find the answer, but he was content with always wondering, as long as he was wondering about you.

_Little did he know - you thought about him, too._

 


End file.
